


Home Are the Heroes ~ by Fairfax

by AngelBookofDaysModerator



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angel Book of Days Challenge, Multi, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-03
Updated: 2003-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelBookofDaysModerator/pseuds/AngelBookofDaysModerator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written by Fairfax. Posted on the author's behalf by the Angel Book of Days Moderator.</p><p>Faith and Wesley lay a few old ghosts to rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Are the Heroes ~ by Fairfax

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Girlfromsouth](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Girlfromsouth).



"There are no children in this building, you know. I doubt we’ll get any trick-or-treaters."

Faith glanced up at Wesley from the punch bowl she was filling with candy. "And this is a problem...how?" She grabbed a bag of Hershey’s Miniatures. "The fewer kids show up, the more candy for you and me." She upended the bag into the bowl and snagged a bite-sized Crunch bar for herself. "And by ‘you and me,’ I mostly mean me," she smirked, moving past him into the living room.

She placed her oversized candy bowl within easy reach on the coffee table and flopped on to the sofa. In the week since her arrival, it had become her end of the couch. Tugging the throw from over the back, she draped it across her legs and began her traditional hunt through the cushions. "Did you trick-or-treat when you were a kid? And where the hell’s the remote?"

"No, and here." Settling at the other end, Wesley dug between the arm and the cushion and tossed her the remote. Watching her point at the television and begin clicking away, he asked, "Are you certain this is all you want to do tonight? You don’t want to go out?"

"Yeah, I’m certain. Tonight is all about watchin’ horror movies and eatin’ as much popcorn and candy as the human body can handle." Decisively, she bit off the end of a Twizzler. Grinning, she nudged Wesley with a toe. "Gimme a break, Wes. Halloween is my one official night off per year. No way I’m patrolling."

"I wasn’t suggesting you do. I merely thought you might want to go out somewhere. To a club, perhaps?"

"Nah, I’m good here." She curled her toes into the crease between the cushions. "Right?"

"Right. We’re good." He reached past her for a handful of chocolates.

When she appeared--uninvited and unannounced--at his front door, he’d done nothing more than raise an eyebrow before stepping aside to let her in. She had shoved a garment box into his arms before making herself at home on the sofa and putting her boots up on the coffee table.

"There ya go. Fresh from Cleveland, just for you."

Wesley had pulled out the ugliest t-shirt Faith had been able to find: mauve with "Rock City, USA" in shiny, acid-green on the front and the Hall of Fame logo on the back. Dryly, he said, "I’m touched, Faith."

"Well, I wanted to get you one that said ‘My Slayer went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and all I got was this shitty t-shirt,’ but Buffy musta bought the last one before she fucked off to Europe." He smiled slightly at that. "There’s more," she continued, gesturing at the box.

Packed under the shirt had been a withered parchment roll covered in glyphs. Tilting it carefully toward the light, Wes frowned. "What’s this?"

"Hey, you tell me. There’s something hellmouthy in Ohio. Dawn and Willow can’t figure it out, Giles is MIA in Belgium or some shit, so…"

"You brought it to me. Well, this should be no trouble. My resources as head of Research and Intelligence are extensive. I’m sure we’ll be able to provide a translation." He had grabbed a notepad, research books, and pen, and spread out at the table, her presence half-forgotten. 

"Swell." She had gazed around the apartment and found it as she remembered: somber blue walls, dust, and book smell. Pleasant, though, with the diffuse, golden light of autumn coming through the window. "I’ll sack here until you get it done, if that’s okay with you."

Distracted he had glanced up. "Of course. You’ll be all right on the couch?"

"Five by five."

Five days later, Faith snuggled deeper into the cushions and studied Wesley by the light from the television. On screen, some blonde who looked just like B was screaming her head off and running from a fisherman with a hook. She was about to point out the resemblance when Wes turned to her. "Oh, if the phone rings, check the ID before you pick up."

"Why?"

"Tonight’s the office party, and Lorne’s furious we’re not attending. I didn’t think you’d want to go."

"You got that right."

***

When they went to the office the day after her arrival, it took Wesley and his flunkies twenty-eight minutes to translate the scroll Dawn, Robin, and Willow wrestled with for a week before giving up on. From Faith’s perspective, sitting in Angel’s office with Gunn, Spike, and Angel himself, those twenty-eight minutes felt as long as her stint in prison. 

She didn’t know what to think about Angel’s new situation. The glass and chrome palace that was Wolfram and Hart was impressive enough, as were the many employees bustling around. Wes seemed proud of his department, or at least its capabilities. She had tried to appear interested as he gave her a mini-tour of Research and Intelligence, a department that seemed to be made up of human geeks, demon geeks, a lot of paper, and another ex-watcher Faith instantly sized up as a traitor and an asshole. Wesley had left her in Angel’s office with no more than a "Look who’s here, everyone" and promises to return quickly with a translation.

"Faith," Angel said from behind a huge desk. "What brought you to L.A.?"

"Oh, you know. Demon hijinks on Lake Erie. Hellmouth stuff. Gotta scroll that needs translating, so I figured I’d borrow Wesley’s brain." 

Angel had nodded in agreement and said nothing as Gunn and Spike spoke up offering greetings and asking questions. She ignored them for a moment, eyeing Angel with a critical eye. He looked different. She had never known Angel to look so dark and thick. His physique in his designer clothes seemed doughier, skin sallow, and hair frozen in a style that only narrowly escaped being called a pompadour. Angel has the look of a man hip deep in quicksand and not caring. Stick him in a rhinestone jumpsuit, Faith thought, and he’d look like Elvis about to OD on the toilet.

She took a deep breath and offered weakly, "So, big shot lawyers now, huh? Gonna turn me in? For being an escaped convict and all?"

"No worries there," Gunn had piped up. "That was one of the first things we did. Your ‘remains’ were found and identified in the rubble in Sunnydale. Your status is officially deceased and the case is closed. If you can avoid close police scrutiny and background checks, you should be free and clear."

"Good to know. Thanks." And Faith truly was thankful. She could feel relief spreading through every cell. No one looking for her, the threat of reimprisonment lessened if not gone entirely. She felt light and buoyant, as if heavy weights had held her to the ocean bottom, and now she was free to rise to the surface. But if Angel looked different, Gunn was almost unrecognizable. Faith had remembered him as a genuine, capable, street-fighter type in cargos. This Gunn wore silk suits and looked more likely to hit you with a law book than a crossbow.

"Full service, they are." Spike alone looked the same as he always had, and that somehow made his astonishing presence less surprising. She summoned a genuinely happy smile for him. 

"Dude, what the hell are you doing here? We all thought you were dust." She had reached to smack him on the arm and almost jumped out of her skin when her hand passed through him. "Holy shit! What the fuck happened to you?!"

"Vampire ghost, pet. It’s my reward for saving the world. Now I get to spend who knows how long haunting these bloody halls." She had stared at him, wide-eyed. "What? No one told you?"

"No, we hadn’t heard."

"That figures." Spike shot a sour look at Angel, who ignored him. "How’s everybody? Who misses me?"

"Dawn, Robin and Willow are with me in Cleveland with a bunch of new slayers. We’re fine, I guess. Um, I think Dawn misses you. She named Willow’s new cat after you." Angel and Gunn snorted at that, but Faith continued. "Uh…Buffy is in Europe huntin’ for new slayers with Giles, Xander and Andrew. So I don’t really know much about them."

Angel interrupted with questions about the threat that brought her to L.A., and Faith was grateful not to have to answer any of Spike’s queries about Buffy. She didn’t want to have to tell Spike, who died to save the world and loved Buffy, that Buffy’s mourning period was brief. Her letters and emails are filled with stories about places Faith will never visit and the guys she met there. Faith doesn’t get to read all of her letters, but she knows B picked up a poet in Ireland and a businessman in Greece, both described as honeys of the studly variety. ; Buffy is living large, training slayers and fighting evil without being tied to a hellmouth. She clearly enjoys the freedom she’s found in Europe, and despite what she tells Dawn, Faith doesn’t think she’ll be returning to Cleveland any time soon. 

For almost thirty minutes, she suffered through small talk. She traded some battle stories with Angel and Spike, while listening to them snipe at each other. Gunn kept up a litany of Wolfram and Hart’s Good Works: wizard injunctions, demons put out of business, and so on. When Wesley returned, smiling triumphantly, she leaped out of her seat and met him halfway across the room.

"Told you we could do it," he said as he passed her a typewritten sheet.

Faith scanned the translation quickly. Scary demons, still-beating heart of a male virgin, Lake Erie will boil, an ultimate evil will rise, yadda, yadda, yadda all on… "The Night of Ishi Nbaki? When’s that?"

"October 30th, this year."

"Wes, you are wicked awesome. Is there someplace I can make a call?"

"Of course." He gestured toward the door. "My office has magically secured fax and phone lines." She paused briefly at the threshold and turned for a quick ‘so long, good luck, nice to see you again’ and split before they could say much in return.

Faith stalked down the hall and into Wesley’s office. When Wesley had closed the door, she shook her head and said, "I don’t know what you people are doing here, Wes."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean Angel looks bored out of his skull, Spike’s a freakin’ ghost, Stepford Gunn acts like he’s been brainwashed…and where the hell is Cordelia? And that skinny girl?"

"Fred is down in the science lab," he had said stiffly. "If you really want to see her for some reason, you can visit after you make your call." He looked pointedly at her hand resting on the receiver. "Dial nine to get out."

As she dialed, he asked, "What about me? Do you have an opinion about me?"

"Just that you seem to have lost your edge when you shaved your stubble. I thought you had turned yourself into a hunter, but you’re back to research and taking orders." He frowned at her harshly. "When was the last time you even staked at vamp?"

Before Wesley could respond, the line clicked and she heard Robin’s voice saying hello. "Hey, Rob, it’s me." Wesley stood silently by while she outlined the translation and jotted down a fax number, which he used to transmit the scroll to Ohio. She and Robin idly talked tactics as the fax went through, and Faith studied the angry set to Wesley’s shoulders as he stood with his back to her. She listened with half an ear while Robin told her about demon activity, patrols, and her classes at the training hall. Her crossbow class had been turned over to Dawn of all people, but thankfully no one got hurt.

"So you’re flying home tonight, right? What time does your plane land?"

"Tonight?" That’s so soon. "I wasn’t plannin’ on tonight, no."

Earnest, his voice over the line, "We need you here, Faith."

Mildly irritated, she had almost asked why. Why, with more Slayers per square mile in Cleveland than any other city in America, why did she always have to be there? Instead she replied, "Look, we’ve got a few days ‘til this Ishi Nbaki thing, so I’ve got time. Even if I don’t make it back before the 30th, you handle it. Let Willow cast the spell and Kennedy take point and fight the demon. It’s not like she isn’t dying to be head Slayer anyway."

"What’s keeping you there?"

Maybe I’m tired. Maybe I’m already tired of junior Slayers, and little sisters, and all this fucking team play. Maybe I’m tired of waiting for you to surprise me.

"What’s keeping me here?" she had repeated, stalling. "I got stuff I need to do. I’m gonna—"

"We’re going patrolling." Wesley’s voice had cut across her train of thought. She looked up. His eyes narrowed in grim anticipation, he repeated in a loud whisper, "We’re going patrolling."

She heard Robin saying her name.

"We’re going patrolling, me and Wesley," she said smoothly. "You know, Slayer-Watcher stuff. I guess he wants to see if I’ve still got what it takes." Wesley smiled slightly.

"He’s in for a treat then," Robin said.

"Uh-huh." Why did that make her blush a little?

"I’ll let you go then. Be careful out there. And hurry home, pretty. I miss you."

Faith immediately felt like shit. "Yeah, yeah, beautiful," she said, making an effort to be teasing and giving him the ‘You’re pretty, but I’m beautiful’ wordplay he was looking for. "I miss you, too." She looked down at the phone instead of Wes as she told a little white lie that maybe wasn’t completely a lie.

She hung up and asked Wesley immediately, "Are we really going patrolling?"

"Yes. Let’s go."

They had gathered weapons and were waiting by the elevator when he abruptly said, "For the record, I have not lost my edge."

She laughed. "Talk is cheap, man. Talk is cheap…"

***

2 a.m., post-slayage and Faith had her usual appetites.

She and Wes sat across from each other in a diner booth. Slightly dusty and bruised, they concealed their weapons and their exhilaration from the after-party crowd. Four vamps dusted and a carload of teens saved was not a bad night’s work for any slayer. Wes fought as well as, if not better than, Robin, in a down and dirty style that Faith had admired. It had been a blast just to cut loose and fight. In Los Angeles, there was no post-slay debriefing, no ‘What did we learn from this, class?’ discussion with a bunch of jittery Slayer trainees. In Los Angeles, there was just food and Wesley.

Wes had gingerly touched the bruise forming near his eye. "How does it look?"

She nodded approvingly. "Edgy." And they both cackled loudly, drawing momentary attention toward their booth. 

Faith’s head shot up like a hound when the waitress finally brought their food. Decaf and a muffin for Wesley. Eggs, bacon, home fries, a large orange juice and a humongous slab of chocolate cake for Faith. 

"That’s an obscene amount of food to be eating at this hour, Faith."

"Shut up. And pass the ketchup."

She liberally coated the fries and dug in. "Watcher pays, by the way. So, I hope you brought your wallet."

"Since I’m no longer a Watcher, why don’t you pay?"

"Bullshit. Once a Watcher, always a Watcher." Faith playfully nudged his feet. When he didn’t object, she left her legs there, touching his.

"Do you miss having a full-time Watcher?"

"I haven’t had a full-time Watcher since my first one was killed. I’m fine." She forked a large chunk of cake into her mouth and talked around it. "Besides, Robin was raised by a Watcher, so he gets the job done. Plus, Dawn and Will equal about half a Watcher a piece, so the newbies usually get the attention they need."

They talked companionably for an hour. Cleveland was compared to both Los Angeles and Boston. Details about the new slayers and their training discussed. Their waitress brought them fresh coffee and a chocolate chip cookie for Faith. Wesley told Faith that no one lived at the Hyperion anymore. He stayed in his apartment, but the rest of the A.I. team had moved on up to high rent cribs near the firm. 

"Wolfram and Hart. Jeez, Wes, are you sure you know what you’re doing?"

"We’re trying to do good. I believe the resources available to us at the firm can be a powerful weapon against evil." She looked at him skeptically. "It’s true."

"Maybe. Still, it’s good to get out and fight evil the old-fashioned way once in while, right?"

Wes traced a finger along his bruise again and grinned. "Definitely." She rubbed her toes along his calf.

Wesley cleared his throat. "I admit to a certain degree of…ambivalence sometimes. We do seem to spend half our time fighting our own clients—or even our own employees. I worry that the Senior Partners are simply pulling our strings, letting us win select battles while setting us up for a fall. Since we no longer have a link to the Powers, we—"

"You don’t?" she interrupted, surprised. "Since when? Hey, you never answered me before. Where is Cordelia?"

Wes looked uncomfortable. "She’s in a coma."

Faith felt her throat close up. "How did that happen?"

Numb, she listened as Wesley explained about a rogue Power named Jasmine, and how she manipulated Cordelia’s visions and then Cordelia herself, turning her into something evil. Cordelia gave birth to Jasmine after that spontaneous pregnancy thing, but the strain put her in a coma. Faith felt queasy.

"Faith, are you all right?" Wesley reached across the table toward her hand.

"No." She pulled her hands and legs out of reach. "I’m ready to go. Pay the bill."

On the way to his apartment, he tried to talk to her, but she answered him in monosyllables until they pulled up to the curb. Turning to him, she asked, "What’s her room look like? Name one of her nurses."

He looked out the windshield and didn’t answer.

"You’ve never visited her, have you? What about Angel? Gunn? Twiggy the Science Chick?"

"I don’t know."

"Whatever." She jumped out onto the curb and slammed the door. "You’re pathetic."

He got out of the car and called across to her as she stalked toward the building, "She’s receiving the best of care, Faith."

"Says the man who’s never been there."

Inside, he gave her a wide berth as she went straight for the bathroom. She washed up for bed, and took vengeful pleasure in the poor patch job he had done to his shower tile. She left the bath and lay on the couch with her back to him.

"I didn’t realize you liked Cordelia." His voice behind her was quiet.

"I don’t. She’s a bitch. I never had any use for her or her for me." She listened to him move closer. He paused, and she felt his hand in her hair.

"Then why are you so upset?"

"Let’s see. Girl has higher calling, girl turns evil, girl falls into a coma and is abandoned by everyone. Gee, this sounds familiar. Fuck, Wes! Why the hell do you think I’m upset?" She knocked his hand out of her hair and yanked the blanket over her head. "Turn the goddamn light off."

***

Cohabitation is easy so long as a few simple rules are obeyed.

She is not allowed in Wesley’s bedroom; however she has first dibs on the bathroom when she wants it. She claimed the sofa for her lounge spot, he claimed the table for his work spot, and neither is to be disturbed by the other. Faith was allowed to drink his wine, and Wesley was allowed to drink her chocolate milk. Wes promised not to touch her favorite weapons. Faith promised not to play with that weird armored helmet, even though she really wants to.

Certain things were not discussed: Cordelia, previous beatings and betrayals, the vamp the other let get away during patrol, and global politics.

For Wesley’s piece of mind, Faith had agreed to not handle cooking spray, knives, or anything else that might belong to the major torture groups. Wesley was allowed to handle knives on the provision that he not use them to pin any junkies to the kitchen wall.

Since neither of them could cook for shit, Faith figured they would only go into the kitchen for take-out menus anyway.

In this way, the week passed quickly.

Robin called frequently and Faith always answered it, more because the ringing of Wes’s phone bugged the crap out of her than for any other reason. The thing would ring and ring for eternity before finally being picked up by the machine. 

Their conversations were usually the same. Robin told her about their preparations for the Night of Ishi Nbaki and told her to fly back now. She had a different excuse to stay every day. She and Wes are training, a vamp got away last night that she’s determined to get tonight, she has an earache and can’t fly. In truth, she likes being an independent Slayer in L.A. more than she liked being top Slayer and everybody’s mentor in Cleveland. In truth, she feels more at home here with Wesley after a week than she did with Robin after months. 

Wes likes loud music and lets her choose the radio station. He can be extremely violent in a fight, but then brush tangles from her hair without ever pulling once. They fight so well, almost seamlessly. She has learned some vicious moves from him. Wesley can disembowel a slime demon without flinching, but wrinkled his nose in disgust when she left her socks on the floor. He loves and hates his father. He’s isolated from the people who used to be his best friends.

Wesley never stops surprising her. 

Late on October 30th, she phoned Cleveland to congratulate them for beating the demon. Robin enthused about Kennedy for a moment and how Dawn and some new Slayer whose face she can’t picture saved the sacrifice. He hung up quickly to return to the celebration she could hear in the background. He never asked her to come home, and she offered no excuses for staying. She picked up the phone again and ordered a pizza for her and Wes. 

She’d noticed that the only time the phone rang was when Robin called her. Angel’s crew didn’t call. No woman had called for Wes in the week she’d been there. 

She watched Wes reach for a slice of supreme and decided to just ask. "Where’s your girlfriend, Wes?"

He halted in mid-motion. "What?"

"Your girlfriend. You’re not a freakin’ monk, man. You must have one."

Pizza abandoned, Wesley wiped his hands on a napkin. "Not since May," he said shortly.

"Bad break-up?"

"You could say that."

"What happened?" Faith reached across her plate for her soda can. "Did she cheat on you?"

"I chopped her head off and buried her in the Hyperion’s garden."

Faith knocked her can over and let it spill. Speechless, she gaped at Wesley, her mouth moving silently.

Tiredly, he grabbed some napkins and began mopping up the table. "Angelus bit her, but it turns out she was already dead at the time. I thought he sired her. I was wrong, but I did what I thought I had to."

She moved past her astonishment enough to help him clean up. "Angelus? So this was..."

"Right before I helped you escape from prison, yes."

"You never said anything."

"We hadn’t seen each other in years, Faith, and then not as friends. Besides, I broke you out to fight Angelus and the Beast, not so I’d have a shoulder to cry on."

Faith chewed on her lip and watched him clear the table. "Did you love her?"

He glanced up. "Yeah. Too little, too late, but yes."

"Who did kill her?"

Wesley kept his back to her as he stood at the sink and muttered, "Cordelia."

Faith suddenly felt very sorry for giving him such a hard time about visiting coma patients. "Jeez, Wes, I’m sorry." He nodded in response. "What was her name?"

Wesley sighed. "Lilah Morgan."

Surprised, she asked, "The lawyer?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "That’s right. She worked for the firm before we took over. How do you know…?"

"She was one of the lawyers that hired me to kill Angel."

"Ah, of course. I’m surprised you remember her after all this time."

"I don’t remember much," she told him. "I remember she was tall and brunette. Oh, and her favorite color was green."

She stopped abruptly because Wesley looked like he’d been kicked. "Wes?"

"I didn’t know that," he muttered as he moved past her into his bedroom and slammed the door. 

Faith stood in the living room looking at the door. She understood a little better now why his bedroom was off-limits, and probably why she was not allowed to touch that stupid helmet. She understood why Wesley stayed in this little blue apartment, while the others moved on to bigger and better places. 

It was easier to hold onto his memories here.

***

The coffee table is littered with candy wrappers, popcorn bags, and an empty wine bottle. Faith lay sprawled on the sofa with her feet in Wes’s lap, watching Jamie Lee Curtis scream her head off onscreen. He massaged her feet and made an idle comment about Jamie Lee’s lung power. 

This was definitely Faith’s best Halloween ever. It had been one of her best weeks, period. She doesn’t want to leave L.A. Faith is not ‘Buffy, the sequel.’

Why should she toe the line and patrol the hellmouth and take care of new slayers like a dutiful robot? She’s not cut out to be den mother to a bunch of baby Slayers. She’s tired of trying to conform to Buffy’s standard. She wants to be L.A’s Slayer. After a lifetime of cages of her own making, she wants a little freedom.

And she wants Wesley. 

She gazes at him as he continues her foot rub. He’s wearing his ‘Rock City’ t-shirt, and not many men would look that good in mauve. The dark doorway to his bedroom is behind him, and Faith wonders if she could battle the specter of the headless girlfriend and a shitload of baggage to find a place inside. On the other hand, she wonders if she is trying to make a place for herself where there is none. Wesley has never made a move on her. He has never asked her to go, but never invited her to stay either, so—

"I don’t know what to say to her." Wes was staring ahead at the television.

Confused, Faith glanced at the set where Jamie Lee Curtis was still screaming. "Who…"

"Cordelia. I don’t know what to say to her." Faith was quiet. "She killed Lilah. But it wasn’t really her. I just—what can I say to her?" Wes looked down at Faith’s feet. "We all failed her so completely."

Faith fumbles for words. She’s no damn good at this. "Maybe…maybe you don’t have to say anything. You could just, um, spend time with her." Awkwardly, she offers, "I could go with you." Still looking at her feet, he smiles and nods.

The silence between them stretches until it’s broken by the telephone. They both let out breath they weren’t aware they were holding. Wesley squeezes her ankle before pushing her feet off his lap. "If that’s Lorne about his bloody party…"

She checks the ID. "It’s Robin." 

They look at each other for a long moment. Faith has her hand on the receiver when Wesley abruptly asks, "Have you ever heard of the Beast of Amalfie?"

"Umm, no."

"Well," he says quickly to compete with the phone, "it’s a razor-toothed, six-eyed harbinger of death that should rise in Reseda sometime between now and the end of the year." He paused for breath. "We could probably use your help. That is, if you could stay."

Faith smiles at Wesley, and simply says, "Yeah, I’ll stay." Then she picks up Robin’s call to tell him so.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Girlfromsouth in the Angel Book of Days Autumn Challenge. Prompt: Faith, chocolate ~ no Fred
> 
> Big love to my sweet Palma for her help through idea after idea…and for finally screaming at me to pull my head out of my ass already.


End file.
